I'm 

Made of bones of the branches 

The boughs and the brow-beating light 



While my feet are the trunks 

And my head is the canopy high 



And my fingers extend 

To the leaves 

And the eaves 

And the (bright?) 



Might I shine? 

It's my shine (child?) 



He 

Was a baby abandoned 

Entombed in a cradle of claim (clay?) 



And I was a soul 

Who took pity 

And stole him away 



And gave him the form of 

A fawn to inhabit 

By day 



Bright Eyes, stay 

It's my day 



And you 

Have removed this temptation 

That's troubled my innocent child 



To abduct and abuse and to render, (bereft?) and defiled 



But the river is deep 

To the banks and the water is wild, 

I will fly you 

To the far side